


But I still come back to you (Still come back to youuu)

by CloudySkyes



Series: The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives (in a way) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existentialism, How does one human again?, M/M, The struggles of being a living person without omniscient powers, finally the second part of my series!, seen from the perspective of two beings who used to be occult (or ethereal depending on who you ask)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudySkyes/pseuds/CloudySkyes
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are less than a week into being suddenly human and it seems like everything is going wrong. But they have each other, and that somehow makes it okay.--Further adventures in what happens after the almost-end.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives (in a way) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282925
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	But I still come back to you (Still come back to youuu)

Day Four

\--

Crowley threw the spatula across the room with a strangled scream and stood, breathing heavily and trying to resist the urge to send the frying pan spinning after it. 

He'd spent a smelly, stomach-churning hour removing what had seemed like a pre-neolithic society of green fuzzy things from his fridge, taken a harrowing trip to the local shop, and spent an intensely frustrating hour of trying to work the sleek, fancy cooktop stove in his kitchen. And to top it all off he’d now burned his third attempt at scrambled eggs. 

He’d stood in front of the shop's refrigerated display looking at the bewildering choice of eggs. What exactly did free range entail? Did he need extra large, or perhaps even extra extra large? 

He’d finally decided on the carton that had the most descriptors on it, placing the Grade AAA Extra Extra Extra Large Very White Organic chicken eggs in his little wheeled handbasket and he retreated from the dairy isle with his metaphorical pointed tail metaphorically between his legs. 

A knock. 

He cursed under his breath, and like a reflex he gestured to the flung spatula. 

He winced. 

He walked over and picked it up. 

He faced the counter, shoulders slumped, witnessing the destruction that was his kitchen.

The knock sounded again. 

Nothing for it he supposed. 

He answered the door. 

\--

Aziraphale was Not a Fan of being human. He’d had to actually take the effort to hail down a cab and he could now say with some authority that some of those cab drivers were a great deal less than polite. He’d never had occasion to discover this before, because all the cabs he’d set foot in had arrived exactly when he wanted them to, had silently pleasant drivers and gentle classical music playing from the car speakers, and went exactly where he was going. 

Which of course meant that now he’d had to deal with the mortifying realization that he  _ didn’t actually know where Crowley lived.  _

He knew the feel of the area, the image of his apartment building, the general location of that building in relation to other tall, bleak, upscale apartment buildings in the neighborhood. 

He just didn’t know the address. 

He’d been placed in a position of mortification, mouth gaping like a fish in the backseat of a rather grimy and rank taxi as he struggled with the realization that he had no blasted idea where to direct the cabbie. 

After an hour of increasingly frustrating unsuccessful attempts to just drive in a certain direction and hope to someone that Crowley lay that way, Aziraphale recognized an apartment building. 

With no little relief he told the cabbie to pull over and he paled at the price on the meter. He reached into his pocket with no little inexperience to pull out and count the cash.

He really wasn’t used to carrying money, the only way he’d been able to get on alright so far was all thanks to the till in his bookshop. Nevertheless, he’d taken careful note of exactly what he’d removed from the register so that his records remained flawless. He might not technically be an agent of the divine anymore, but he’d be damne- blesse- buggered if he’d let his bookkeeping be anything less than irreproachable. 

Now he stood on the street with his pockets noticeably lighter, and an unfortunately cooled bag of takeout from his favorite italian restaurant, trying desperately to orient himself on the streets of Crowley’s neighborhood. 

He wished he could have called ahead to Crowley’s apartment to warn him he was coming over (or to sound vaguely helpless and pathetic until Crowley grudgingly agreed to come pick him up), but he didn’t know the number. The phone always just called it for him before. 

As he wandered, he tried to escape the growing realization that he was rather hopeless as a human. 

When he finally located the correct building, he was deeply uncomfortable. 

His body was sweating unbearably and there was nothing he could do about it. His waistcoat and jacket were slightly wet at the armpits and the sensation was incredibly unpleasant. He took a guilty moment of magical thinking to try and miracle himself tidy. Nothing happened, and he immediately tried to deny to himself that he’d even had the idea. 

Time to find Crowley. 

He managed to breach the building’s confusing door, (It seemed designed to automatically open when there was noone there, but close as soon as someone approached it. Obviously a demonic working of Crowley’s, but horribly annoying nonetheless) and work the buttons in the elevator (they were all painted with a color the barest semi-tone removed from the polished metal of the buttons themselves, rendering them nearly impossible to read without squinting and contorting yourself to catch them at a readable angle. Aziraphale compromised by pushing every button and poking his head out on each floor to see if it looked familiar), and finally found himself in front of Crowley’s door. 

He took a self-conscious moment to adjust his clothing, the sweat stains were now cold and clammy and he made a face of distaste. Human bodies were truly burdensome. 

He looked down at the no doubt also cold takeout spaghetti and regretted everything for a moment. Why was he there, it was honestly not that well thought out of a plan, and he had no guarantee that the demon… well, former-demon, would even want to see him. 

Then his mind brought him back to the conversation, well, confessional with Crowley only two days ago. They didn’t really have time to dally around and be unsure about things all the time. He couldn’t afford to simply wait and see if Crowley would come to him first, he had to begin to make decisions in the human way: with the certainty that one’s time is limited and there are some things one oughtn’t delay. 

He knocked on the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY I have the first chapter of the second work in this series, I have been slowly chipping away at where I want this to go and I'm excited to post this first bit! I'm hoping to update much more frequently so expect further adventures of these two very soon.   
> Comments are life, I'd love to know what you guys think!


End file.
